Richard J. Ronayne

Novella

Phenix Publishing Ltd

Nation-X Project

Dozens of my stories are currently being illustrated for release by Phenix Publishing Ltd for their Nation-X project, a multi-year project for 4-8000 word educational novellas.

This series was designed for young adults and high schoolers across Chinese and American schools, harnessing anthropomorphism to help digest mature, dark or joyful topics, whilst reflecting life, and exploring real social issues in an exciting and educational way.

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Love on Skull Island
By Richard Joseph Ronayne

CHAPTER 1: Tensions Surface in the Sunset Channel
We Interrupt the Regularly Scheduled Program to Bring You this Important Message.
Amy read the sudden message projected upon her television out loud. The Emergency Broadcast System was something she had heard of but never witnessed in her lifetime. She knew that, like most newsworthy events, it was unlikely to be for positive reasons, and found herself overwhelmed with anxiety, staring, in frozen silence, as the television let out a foreboding high pitched constant beep.
It continued for a few minutes, before finally stopping as the screen showed the familiar news anchor Jane Whiteley, “We apologize for the interruption, but breaking news has occurred as tensions in the south-west oceans hit an all-time boiling point. 
We regret to inform you that President White is thought to be lost at sea, whilst sailing his own personal yacht during his presidential holiday. Naval authorities report that their evidence suggests terrorist activity as all fingers point towards the pirates of Skull Island.”
Amy’s eyes widened in shock at the news, President White was very popular, seeming a kind and honest leader of the people of Nation X. Terrorists, she repeated in her head as her jaw lay slack.
“I’m being told now that we have a reporter live at the scene of the wreckage, Craig Short, can you hear me?” The corgi newsman asked.
“I can just hear you over the crashing of the waves here Jane, as I stand aboard the Nation X Navy destroyer USN Paws for Applause. The crew is scurrying about frantically as they investigate what has now been confirmed to be the wreckage of the President’s yacht.
It seems several explosions from inside the ship occurred, breaking her apart, and Jane, there are as far no survivors, though most of the crew has been accounted for, unfortunately,” Craig reported.
“And Craig, can you confirm if the President is among the discovered?” Jane probed.
“I can confirm that the President is not among those recovered, or the wreckage, which floats about halfway out into the south-western open ocean with no land in sight. My apologies Jane, we’re just receiving some new information now as the divers have returned.”
A few tense moments passed before Craig returned, “Jane, we can confirm that the President is indeed missing, his body is the only one unaccounted for now and should have been amongst the wreckage with the rest. It seems to appear that this may have been some sort of terrorist abduction, and we can only imagine how Nation X will react without his leadership. Back to you, Jane.” 
Jane paused as she listened to something in her earpiece, “Thank you, Craig. Viewers, we have also heard that the full might of the Navy and Airforce has been mobilized to the area now as all our thoughts and prayers go to the President’s safe return. We will be following the situation intensely, as it evolves. This is Jane Whiteley, signing off.”
Then the television returned to the previous program as if nothing had happened at all. Amy sat frozen in place, she didn’t know what to do or think. War could be announced with Skull Island at any moment. The fear of war came over her, until, finally, she looked down and saw her phone lighting up with Tim calling her.
She answered, without speaking, to Tim’s voice, “Amy, don’t say anything, but meet me at Peter’s boat in Southland. I may have a lead, but my editor doesn’t want to hear about it, and I can’t get through to anyone else on the proper channels.”

 
CHAPTER 2: Flotsam and Jetsam
President White continued pretending to still be unconscious. He could feel that he was lying down on a hard metal floor of a small vessel, rocking between large waves. He had a bag over his head, so he couldn’t see, but listened intently to his captors. He had heard three voices so far, as they were arguing between themselves above deck.
At first, they disagreed with the sinking of his yacht, mentioning that it was supposed to be a clean grab, and that murder and destruction wasn’t part of the deal. Whilst the gruffest voice amongst them, presumably their leader, explained that he was left with no choice as they had let themselves be witnessed, mentioning superseding orders from the V, whatever that meant.
That argument had endured for an hour or two, President White had counted, remembering his military training, before a terrible storm had caught them, flinging their little vessel all about the waves.
He heard the crashing waves, felt the sea water splashing over the deck and down the stairs, as thunder boomed all around them. More and more thunder went off nearby, before President White realized the slight distinction of distant crackling gunfire amongst the storm, then the whistling of projectiles flying past, scarcely missing the ship.
His suspicions were confirmed, as he heard his captors realize they were under attack, before suddenly, someone he did not know was there, whispered in his ear, “Stay quiet, and do what I say, or you will regret it.”
They then cut the rope that bound his legs, before turning their attention to the bindings around his wrists, then paused before moving away.
“Hey!” the President whispered, “I demand to know what is going on?”
Footsteps on the metal stairs announced the emergence of one of the captors whom the President recognized, “Oi! Can it El presidente, or I’ll shoot you right now and be done with all of this. Hey, what are…” His sentence was cut off by a gunshot, which deafened the President.
He felt a tug on his wrist binds as he stood up and was led up the stairs, his ears still ringing from the gunshot. He was blind and deaf now, all his senses taken away from him as he was corralled by his invisible host. 
He slowly became aware of a growing pain in his side, realizing that he had been shot. Adrenaline coursed through him suddenly as his military training returned to the forefront of his mind. He could feel that the bullet had gone through his hip, just a flesh wound, but it was enough for him to make up his mind.
Refusing to leave his life in the hands of his abductors anymore, feeling the mysterious hand grab him again to move him, he suddenly flailed his body towards them.
He felt his shoulder powerfully contact another body. Then the railing. Then the ocean. He was overboard now. As he struggled to wriggle the bag off his head, he kicked his legs to propel himself towards the surface.
The bag at last came off as his vision saw absolute chaos around him. There was indeed a violent storm swirling all around him, and two ships firing at each other with small arms.
He did not know which ship his abductors were on, but he could tell that both ships were certainly not Navy. As the waves splashed over him and he swam to the surface, again and again, both ships got further and further away. He fortunately found a large enough piece of driftwood, managing, wrists still tied behind him, to climb aboard it.
He paddled his feet to propel his new vessel away from the storm. Hours passed before the waves finally began to calm, as exhaustion overtook him, and the pain of his bullet wound returned to him, he passed out once more.
When he did awake, he was in a hammock looking up at a palm tree and clear sunny skies. Entirely unbound, he tried to move, before remembering his wound. Looking down he could see that someone had ripped his white shirt to treat his wound whilst he slept, though the President could not see anybody immediately.
He leant up, taking in the makeshift camp site, seeing that he was now on a tiny desert island, without any hint of civilization between the surrounding ocean.
He saw a pistol nearby, lying on a piece of driftwood. Not knowing how much time had passed, where he was, how he got here or who else was with him, he reached for it.
Click. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. President.” He stopped still, recognizing the sound of a gun cocking. He turned to see a young female bobcat sitting, back leaned against a tree, pistol pointed at him. She wore a red neckerchief, and her black trousers and flowy shirt were ruined, her sleeves ripped to wrap his wound.
“I see, then I am at a loss in several ways. You know who I am, but I do not know the name of my captor and savior?” the President queried.
“I’m the one with the gun. That’s all you need to know,” the bobcat replied.
The President could see the stoicism in her face, but knew something was wrong, as beads of sweat flooded down her face and her arm began to shake. “Well, gunslinger, I must admit that I am impressed. You’ve gone to a lot of effort to capture me and keep me alive. But, most impressively, is how long you can hold that broken arm up.”
The bobcat’s concentration faltered for just a moment as she glanced down at her arm. This was all the President needed to rush her, but he found his body let him down, as his wound slowed him. The gun came up as he tried to wrestle it from her, he expected it to go off, but it did not, and she didn’t even try to put up a fight.
Prizing the weapon away from her he turned it upon his assailant, who grinned, unmoving. “Both the guns found their way to this island the same way me and you did, washed up on the shore. Neither of them works.”
The president inspected the weapon, she was right, the saltwater of the ocean had ruined the weapon beyond use. He let out a laugh, turning back to the bobcat, only to find her asleep.


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